


Time Be A River

by MyckiCade



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Absolutely No 'Infinity Wars' Spoilers, Alcohol Abuse, Angst, He Can Also Be a Jerk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter's Volumes of Innocence, Romance, Senior year, Shared Learning, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony's Bag of Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 19:10:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14479287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: Tony Stark grew up, a long time ago, in the days of good music, and stupid decisions. His maturity may not always reflect it, now, but, he's lived. He's learned. Got it all out of his system. So what, if all that's left is a two-bit drunk, with an insomnia problem? It's only Peter Parker that seems to take issue with that assessment. Peter is young, too young to fully understand. Too full of light, and hope.All of a sudden, Tony can't seem to get that damn light to stop shining in his face.





	Time Be A River

**Author's Note:**

> This has been slinking about, in my folders, since... Cripes, since 'Homecoming'. I don't know why I never edited it, to start posting, until now. *shrugs, guilty*
> 
> Oh, and, yes, I have seen 'Infinity Wars'. No, this story will not contain spoilers, in any fashion. This is a safe zone.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. This story has a soundtrack, as most of my written works do. I will link it, in the next chapter. For now, know that this is mostly written to 'The Finer Things' by Steve Winwood.

Tony... Tony Stark has had it. It's been, oh, five days since he's slept. Maybe, six. That's _if_ his delirium is anything to go by, and he wouldn't swear to it. His schematics are beginning to look like a tangle of white, hologram knots, and, if he drops his screwdriver, one more time, he's pretty sure Peter has programmed DUM-E to take it away from him. Pretty sure. Again, he wouldn't swear to anything.

FRIDAY's requests for him to take a minute have been drowned out, now merely a dull buzz at the back of his head. She's managed to ask him to do just about everything, but sell Stark Industries, and elope with her. _JARVIS had never been so bad,_ he thinks, without conviction, shaking his head free of the latest temptation to black out, where he sits. If he can just get this last piece to function, just this one thing... He will happily dive into bed, and sleep, until the rebirth of rock n' roll.

"You're still down here?"

"Jesus!" Tony shouts, jumping in his seat, dropping upgrade attachment, screwdriver, and, likely, one of his lives. Spinning around, he glances at his intruder. Peter stares back at him, in some sense of disbelief, he figures. (He doesn't know. The kid is kind of blurry). "What the hell are you doing, sneaking up on me, like that?" There's no bite to his tone, really, just mild annoyance. He places a hand over his chest, and tries to still the off-rhythm pounding of his heart.

Peter descends the staircase, and sighs. "Sorry." He's not. Tony can just _feel_ it, in his voice. "But, it's, like... Ass-o'clock, and, you're still sitting down here."

"Yeah, kid, I do that," Tony snips back, regretting it, almost immediately. He doesn't physically _see_ Peter flinch, but, he knows it's there. "Look, I'm almost done," he tries, instead, tone far more patient. "I just need to-... To..." Glancing down, he looks to collect his screwdriver, only to find it... Of course, as he guessed, in DUM-E's clawed grip. " _Traitor,_ " Tony hisses, making a swipe for the tool. DUM-E beeps, twice, and swings further out of his reach. He makes another grab, while simultaneously taking mental stock of the situation. Fighting with a his own robotics, to reclaim a flathead screwdriver. It's ridiculous, really, as he has dozens more, but, he was using _that one,_ okay? Is it worth the pile of failure that he ends up in, on the floor, in front of his teenaged protege? Not even remotely. But, there is a principle to adhere to, damn it!

God, he has no idea what his mind is mumbling on about.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Principles, and teenagers, and, selling DUM-E to a third-world country."

Or, apparently, his mouth.

Tony rolls onto his back, and, damn, the popping up his spine feels _so_ nice. He might just lay here for a week or two. Someone can bring him food, when he's awake, and, surely, he programmed one of his helpers with a water spray option, right? Showers would be covered, at least. And, Peter...

Tipping his head back, Tony assesses the Spider-Brat, upside down, as the kid takes the screwdriver from DUM-E. He pets the robotic, with a smile on his face, and receives a beeping purr, in return.

"Ah-ha!" Tony shouts, his voice bouncing off the concrete floors, and ringing into his own ears. "I knew it! It's collusion!"

Here, Peter has the audacity to snort. "After that fall, I'm surprised it's not a concussion." Tony scowls. He's not _that_ bad off, thank him, very fucking much. Peter ignores the look, though, and reaches down, to lift Tony into his arms. And, really, that's just fucking embarrassing, okay? Being carted around, like a sack of flour, by a _teenager,_ of all people!

"Now, it's time for all good little science nerds to get tucked in, for the night."

"I call foul," Tony interjects, like a damn idiot, one arm hooking behind Peter's neck. "You're a science nerd. You're not in bed."

The look Peter gives him, is nothing short of unimpressed. That, he's sure of.

Clearly exasperated, Peter sighs. "Tony, if you can tell me what hour, of what day it is, I'll set you right back to your work. I promise."

"Scout's honour?"

Peter shrugs. "Well, Spider's honour."

"HA. I'll take it!" Tony cries, already prepared to crow his victory. "It, my dear arachnid, is four p.m., Tuesday." He smirks, so smug, as Peter gapes.

"Holy shit..." the boy starts, in honest awe. Tony knows that look, too. (How many of Peter's looks has he memorized, by now?) "I..." Tony's left him speechless. Oh, sweet validation, he can still hold his own! "I don't believe... how far _off_ you are."

Wait, what? No, that's not right. He's supposed to have this under control. Right?

The look on Peter's face, that wicked little grin, tells him that he's lost. And, spectacularly.

"You're lying," Tony snips, looking to the ceiling. He doesn't miss the way Peter's eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline, but, there are more important matters at-hand. "FRIDAY!" he calls, instead, two ounces of dignity away from waving his hands at... essentially, nothing, to get the AI's attention. "FRIDAY, what day and time is it?"

Oh, and, there's no way Tony dreams the satisfied tone that FRIDAY comes back with, as she informs him, "It is presently eight-twenty-four in the morning. _Saturday_ morning."

Tony nearly shrieks, in outrage. " _Collusion!_ "

"Oh, hush," Peter chides him, recapturing Tony's attention, without much effort. Rude little bastard, this one. Why did he let him into his life?

"Why did I ever let you into my life?" he asks, giving his thoughts voice. He stares at Peter, hard. The kid doesn't even look at him. Rude, twice-over. To make matters even better, he shrugs, an action that Tony mocks. "What's _this,_ huh?"

He might be wrong, but, he thinks Peter sighs. Just a little bit. But, he could still be delusional. Maybe. "You ask me that, every time you're over-tired." This stops Tony's thoughts, for a second. "If you don't have an answer, by now, then, I can't help you."

Well, this... This is news to Tony. Somewhat. He's been known to run his lips, when he's in a way. Granted, it's never been an issue of National Security, no State secrets spilling out (even if he knew any). But, to be that mean? To Peter? A kid that hasn't done him wrong, yet. Who looks after his sorry old ass, even if said ass won't admit it, under pain of death. Coffee might work, though. A nice cup of strong coffee. Irish coffee would be acceptable, in a pinch. If not, he has some bottle of something stashed in his desk, from last New Year's Eve, if Happy hasn't swiped it, during an ugly moment.

Christ, what the hell had he been thinking about? It seems like it was so important.

They reach Tony's bedroom, before he even realizes it, and Peter is setting him down the bed- _Peter!_

"I really say that, to you, _every_ time I'm exhausted?" he asks, as if he hasn't just blanked out on the conversation, for who knows how long. All the same, really. He needs to know the answer. Oh, he hopes he hasn't. He watches Peter's face, waiting for a change in expression, something to say that the kid is just yanking his chain. Horrifyingly enough, the little spiderling just looks... unaffected? How in the hell?

"Exhausted," Peter replies, tugging the covers up, and over Tony. "Drunk. Pissed off. Whatever."

Tony flinches. _Ow._ Not what he was hoping to hear. Plausible, but, not what he had hoped for. "For how long?"

There's a pause, while Peter thinks it over, before he's shrugging, again. "The better part of the last two years. I dunno'."

Aw, hell. "No more," he swears, watching a smile crawl over the kid's face. It's not a big one, but, it's better than that damned indifference. "I promise. I won't say it, anymore."

Peter's chuckle takes him by surprise. "Yeah, I've heard that, before."

Tony frowns. "I mean it. _And,_ I _will_ remember." He's determined. He _has_ to. He might not be able to put any brain cells down on _why,_ right now, but, he knows he has to get this right.

With a shake of his head, Peter crosses the room. Glancing back at Tony, he's still wearing that not-quite-smile that Tony finds he can't stand. And, if he can't take the facial expressions, the words are enough to stop him, cold.

"You never do."

The lights are off, with a flick of Peter's finger, door closing, behind him. Tony is left in darkness, eyes still focused on where Peter had last stood. There's no point, he figures, in trying to tell himself he isn't a world-class jerk. More accurately, though, he's a fucking dickhead, and he does most of it, on purpose. But, this? Peter Parker is a bright little speck of youth, full of so much promise, it makes Tony's head spin. The things the kid will _do,_ for the damned world, if he's given a _fraction_ of a chance. And, Tony is supposed to be mentoring him. Not... Not...

He's about to call up, for FRIDAY to take a note, when another idea occurs to him. "FRIDAY, lights, please." Feeling an argument coming his way, he tacks on, "Just, for a minute."

Within seconds, the lights come up, not as bright as they could be, but, enough to see by. That's all he needs, anyway. Grabbing at his nightstand, Tony finds his date book, a pen marking the appropriate week. Opening the book, he pulls the pen free, and scrawls onto the paper, carefully. (More than once, his penmanship has come into question, and his usual impairments never make it any better). Once he is satisfied with the work, Tony replaces the pen into the spiral binding, and, sets the book onto the bed, beside him.

"Lights, FRIDAY."

 _You never do._ It's echoing in his head, like a nightmare of a migraine. _You never do._ Yeah, well, see him not remember, _this time._ There is no way he can forget, not with this fool-proof plan.

Smiling, broadly, Tony rests his head onto his pillow, and sighs. _Later._ Later will be a new opportunity. Later, he can do better.

* * *

"-is here to see you."

Tony nearly leaps out of his own skin, throwing back the covers, in surprise, as FRIDAY's voice fills the room. How he isn't in a pile, on the floor, he'll never know. Distantly, he's aware that _something_ clatters down, but, he can't be bothered to find out what. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Tony scrubs his hands over his face. "Who, now?" he asks, a yawn quickly taking command.

"Colonel Rhodes, Sir." Tony sighs. It's too damned early. "Shall I tell him to return, at another time?"

"No, no, it's fine." Fighting his urge to roll back under the covers, Tony gets to his feet, thoroughly unsurprised to find himself already dressed. All right, _still dressed_ is a better descriptor, which actually brings him to a rather important question. "How long was I out?"

"Eleven hours, twenty-two minutes, and forty-eight seconds, exactly."

Another sigh. He has no sign of a hangover, and there's a vague recollection of Peter's presence, lingering about his consciousness. Again, little surprise, there. Peter's been dragging him to bed, more often than he'll even admit. This, alone, makes the third time, in two weeks. He really needs to invest in better security. Or, at the very least, make sure Peter isn't around, when he's on a long-haul project. The kid has so much else to worry about. Grades, and homework. Senior year, and Prom, for fuck's sake. College. A full future. Not cleaning up after some drunken old bum, who's slowly killing himself over his own stupidity.

All right. That's enough self-pity, before breakfast.

Tony drags himself out of bed, and down to the lobby. _Lobby._ It's probably the lack of sleep talking, even still, but, how pretentious is that? For one's front entrance way to be referred to as a damn _lobby._ Lunacy.

Rhodey's waiting, stood by the door, despite numerous mentions of a standing invitation to _make himself comfortable._ No surprise, he's in full uniform. The man never did know how to loosen up, properly. Surely, how they ended up where they did. Tony, undisciplined, and doing stupid shit, that Rhodey would later bitch him out for, in his own, controlled way.

Huh. And, it's what time, again?

"What did I do, this time?" Tony asks, hardly ashamed to mention that, yeah, he's pretty guilty. Whatever it is.

Rhodey smirks, and holds up a manila folder. It's full of pages, which has the ability to go either way, on him. Either, that's a sign that he's been a really, really bad boy, or-

"General Kingston has a few... ideas, he's like me to run by you," Rhodey replies, not yet handing him the file. "See if you have any input, that could get this new project off the ground."

"Literally, I hope." Tony makes a grab for the information. "Gimme that." Rhodey, the jerk, holds the file right out of his reach. He gives a quick sniff. "Come on. Let's have it," he tries, again, gesturing with his fingers.

The smirk has yet to leave Rhodey's face. "Official word. You're not allowed to lay eyes on this, unless you agree to give _productive_ input, this time."

Tony huffs. "When do I _not_ give productive input?"

"The last time you two ran into one another, you told the General to see you, about doing something to correct the non-functioning half of his brain."

"It was a quarter," Tony defends, then sighs. "Come on, yes, of course, I'll play nice." It's as close to a promise as he's going to grant the other, and they both know it. He nods toward the bar, across the room, and Rhodey raises an eyebrow. "What, now?"

Pausing, Rhodey glances at his watch. "Well... Okay, no. I probably shouldn't be too alarmed of the fact that you want to drink, before five." He shakes his head, and motions for Tony to continue. "Let's go."

Once drinks are poured (scotch, for Tony, and a soda for the boring old fuddy-duddy), and Tony is finally happy with his state of consciousness, Rhodey settles onto a bar stool. He's reaching to open the coveted Folder of Secret Ideas, when he pauses. His head is turned to the right, and Tony, irritated by the hesitation of their conversation, follows his friend's line of sight. Rhodey's already reaching out to heft a large textbook into his hands, and Tony all but rolls his eyes. Peter really needs to get better about leaving his freaking _school work_ laying around, especially when it is sure to be needed for things like, oh, you know, _fucking school._

Rhodey turns the book over, in his hands, before giving Tony a strange look. "Did you randomly decide to brush up on high school physics?"

Waving a dismissive hand, Tony scoffs. "Peter left it here, last night, must be," he replies, not really sure why he decides to phrase it like he doesn't know, for sure, the chain of events that lead to this moment. (Well, okay, a couple of hours are a little fuzzy, but, he knows Peter was around, the night before... Even if he doesn't remember the homework). "He's always leaving things behind." He pauses. Takes a casual sip of his drink. "We'll be having another talk about it, though." Rounding the bar, he reaches out to tap the cover of the book, as he passes behind Rhodey. "He needed that, today. I know he did."

To his credit, Rhodey only looks mildly surprised. "How do you know that?"

"It's Thursday," Tony replies, like it's obvious. "He has physics, after lunch." Rhodey doesn't look comfortable with that answer, for whatever reason, and Tony isn't about to waste time worrying about it. He reaches forward, and snatches the long-awaited folder, as Rhodey begins flipping through the text book.

"Damn," Rhodey whistles, turning pages at the middle of the book. "He must be acing this one."

Tony smirks. "Public school sciences? He's in a class, by himself." Yeah, sure, that probably sounds pretty proud. He is, _damn_ proud of the kid. He wouldn't be swapping trade secrets with just anyone. Shaking his head, Tony flops the folder open, and starts filtering through his latest requests. Neither says a word, until Rhodey clears his throat. Tony barely glances up.

"So," Rhodey's already beginning, in a tone that Tony isn't all-together sure he's fond of, quite yet. "Parker's here, a lot, huh?"

This gives Tony pause. Yeah, of course, the kid is a pretty frequent flyer, around here. He's in the labs, or, as the found textbook backs up, working on homework, while Tony's plotting ways to blow himself sky high (Peppers words, not his own). And, yeah, maybe there's a bit of a tip between what's strictly for Peter's future, and what time is spent 'in the name of science', but... What good is the brilliant mind, if the keeper can't have a bit of fun with it?

Huh. He might have used that argument, before... And, Rhodey may or may not have been involved, then, too. Ah, those beautiful excuses of youth.

Says the near-fifty-year-old man that's still trying to pull it off.

Christ.

"We're getting him prepared for college," is what leaves Tony's mouth, instead of the laundry list of more believable words that he could have strung together. College? _Really?_ The look on Rhodey's face backs up the running theory that Tony can't lie, for shit, all of a sudden.

"College, Tony?"

Tony heaves a heavy sigh. "I feel better, if he's here, all right? His Aunt works, all the time. And, she's made some new friends... I don't like the idea of Peter being left by himself, in the middle of the city, at all hours."

This seems to go over, a bit better. "I thought they lived in a nice neighbourhood?" Rhodey asks, more concern than doubt in his voice, and Tony considers it a win. A big win. The biggest, and winniest of wins.

Hell, maybe, it's him, spending too much time around teenagers. It's beginning to deteriorate his thoughts.

"Yeah, well," Tony trails, and shrugs. "It's okay, I guess. But, still, he has to cross the city, to get home. And, yesterday, there was a damned robbery, two blocks over. Two blocks!"

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. "Tony, it's New York."

"Irrelevant!" he replies, waving his hands in the air, like a mad man. He's aware of it, but doesn't much care. He can't really explain why he's having this reaction, and doesn't intend to try.

Tony's about to begin a secondary tirade, all-together, when Rhodey raises a hand. "Hey, hey. Don't get me wrong, Tony. I'm glad you care about the kid. I am." Oh? Well, that could be a separate matter, entirely... "I wasn't trying to question you." He smirks. "For once."

Well. Well, isn't this just an interesting turn of events? Any other time, he'd be beating Rhodey's opinions off, with a blaster ray. Could it be that - gasp! - Tony has finally done something that his best friend _actually approves of?_ This may need to be a national holiday.

Yet, once again, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Oh... Okay, then."

Rhodey's smirk just grows, and he points toward the file folder... Which Tony has momentarily forgotten all about. "How about we just go over these plans, hm?"

Two blinks, and Tony manages to revert his attentions back to the reason for said best friend's visit. "Yeah, yeah," he agrees, brushing all other concerns to the side. He takes up the bar stool nearest to Rhodey, and begins shuffling through pages.

And, if Peter's textbook keeps drawing his attention across the bar top, and away from future tinkerings... Well, that's his own problem, isn't it?

* * *

The day isn't moving as fast as Peter would like. He has less than half a class period left, but, it still seems like an eternity. Especially when he has better places he _could_ be. Has better things he _could_ be doing, than reading a collection of short stories.

He's a science genius, not an English scholar, for goodness sake. Why is he even _taking_ this class?

Looking around the room, his eyes fall on a window. He could sneak out, unseen, he's pretty sure. Well. With minimal effort. It might look a wee bit strange that a high school senior is scaling a brick building, downward, but, hey. All in a day's work, for the Spider-Man!

Who the hell is he kidding? He doesn't have the luxury of being the Spider, all the time. He has to study. Apply himself. Make something of his life.

Hell's Bells. When did his inner voice start sounding so much like Tony?

He tunes back in, but is soon fading back out, so seamless, between one, and the other, that it takes Peter a minute to realize he's done it. He tries to pull back, to listen to the teacher carry on, about a lady, and an ironing board, he really does. It's so easy, though, envisioning what he might do, with a free afternoon. As though he really needs to think about _that,_ too hard. He'd be headed across town, in half a heartbeat, ready to check in on his surely-hungover mentor. It was some state he'd left Tony in, the night before, too. Another two-day bender, tucked away in his workshop, making upgrades to who-knows-what. He'd barely been able to get the genius out of the dungeons, over the weekend, just for him to turn around, and start up, all over, again.

If intelligence is a curse, Peter considers, Tony Stark is screwed.

He's been forced to carry the Man Behind the Iron (a little joke, and Tony wasn't an immediate fan) to bed, at any given hour of the night. Or, morning. The moments, in-between. So, Peter figures, he's probably as close to having 'seen it all', as anyone else has ever been. It isn't that he minds, not really. After all, what else is there to do with the man, beyond leaving him to pass out, cold, and smash his head on his work space? That would be a hell of a thing to explain, why the most brilliant mind of their time had bled to death, unsupervised.

Great. Now, he's concerned, again. He drums his fingers against the desk, anxious. Of course, this is partially the by-product of a lack of sleep, on his own part. (And, yes, he can just _hear_ the hiss of 'Hypocrite!' in his ear, thank you, Mister Stark). He can't help it, though. Maybe, he gets it from Aunt May - no, he's _sure_ he gets it from Aunt May, this need to fuss, and worry over other people, whenever they aren't within his line of sight. It's a concerning little chain, passed down, over the generations. Aunt May worries about him. He worries about a man more than twice his age. A man, twice his age, who, at the drop of a hat, could slide into a drunken stupor, and take a tumble down the stairs. Adjust the wrong wire, and blow himself sky high. Start a political blunder, for fun.

Damn, he needs to stop thinking about this, and focus. Focus on the stupid stories that won't make him any smarter. Focus on dissecting the text, on determining why the sky is cloudy, and the author made the curtains blue. (Because, y'know, weather patterns, and colour preferences apparently made no sense, whatsoever). Just, focus, Parker. There's no reason to assume the worst. Regardless, Peter glances to the clock. He still has twenty minutes, to go.

That window keeps looking better, and better.

Gods, he needs to drop this class.


End file.
